


I wanna do bad things with you

by wildlingoftarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hotel Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlingoftarth/pseuds/wildlingoftarth
Summary: Brienne has never done anything like this, always been so good, so careful with other people's feelings in sacrifice of her own.But she's tired of being good.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 62
Kudos: 210





	I wanna do bad things with you

**Author's Note:**

> My hotel sex fetish strikes again. 
> 
> This adds absolutely zero value to the fandom and I am not sorry about it.

_I don't know who you think you are,  
_ _But before the night is through,  
_ _I wanna do bad things with you  
_ _–Jace Everett, “Bad Things”_

  
  


Brienne knows what she's doing. 

She'd known when she threw the short, low-backed navy blue dress and the sky-high heels into her suitcase. 

She'd known when her husband came into their bedroom while she was packing and she slammed her suitcase shut so he wouldn't see what was in it. 

She'd known when she removed her wedding rings, placed them back in their box, and stowed them carefully in the drawer next to the bed in her hotel room. 

She'd known when she spent extra time on her hair and makeup, even swiping on some of the red lipstick Margaery had said gave her "porn star lips."

She’d known when she pulled the dress over her head and strapped the heels on, which made her tower over everyone in any room but made her feel indescribably sexy and powerful. She welcomes the attention tonight. She _wants_ it. 

Even so, she can't prevent the slight shake of her hands as she presses the button for the elevator to take her down to the bar, exhilaration and guilt coursing through her body in equal measure. Brienne has never done anything like this, always been so good, so careful with other people's feelings in sacrifice of her own. 

But she's tired of being good. Tired of being _tired_. She can't bring herself to regret this last-ditch effort to inject some excitement into her life. 

Before her thoughts can get ahead of themselves, the elevator dings and the door slides open to the lobby of the Westerosi Grand. Even though she’s lived in King’s Landing for many years, she's never been inside this hotel -- it's far too ritzy and too expensive for her to have had a reason, and mostly caters to a business clientele, besides.

It was her husband who suggested a solo staycation while he was in Braavos on business, noticing how stressed and preoccupied she'd been lately. The guilt bubbles up again before she tamps it down and steps out of the elevator into the lobby.

The hotel lives up to its name - the decor and the clientele are grand, ostentatious, sparkling. Brienne almost feels like one of them as she walks tall through the lobby and into the hotel bar, all dark wood and dim lighting and shiny brass. It feels insulated, somehow, like the brocade walls will keep all manner of indiscretions from escaping out into the real world.

She straightens her back and walks slowly up to the bar, feeling the eyes upon her, the business travelers in their expensive suits looking up from their martinis and pints of beer. She chooses a seat in the middle of the bar and watches the bartender, a handsome young man with a mop of curly dark hair, approach.

“Good evening. What can I get you?”

“Manderley Rare, neat,” she answers. The bartender raises an eyebrow, impressed, and turns to retrieve the bottle from the top shelf. Brienne doesn’t allow herself this type of indulgence often, but she’s not Brienne tonight. She’s a woman who orders the most expensive whiskey on offer without a thought, closes her eyes and tips her head back as it traces a warm path down her throat. 

The warmth pools in her belly, dissolves some of the tension in her shoulders, and gives her the courage to swing around and lean back against the bar, crossing her legs in front of her and scanning the room. 

The short dress and high heels make her best feature even more conspicuous, as evidenced by the much more obvious stares coming from some of the tables. Brienne knows she is not a beautiful woman, but with age and experience and therapy has come a confidence that people seem to notice. 

She sips her whiskey and observes the other patrons - mostly men, mostly alone, mostly unremarkable. She turns back to the bar and waits, for what she can't really say, and tips back her glass to drain the rest. 

As soon as Brienne places her empty glass on the bar top, the bartender pours her another finger. She’d planned on moving on to something a little less indulgent, but before she can refuse, he says, “Compliments of the gentleman in the corner.”

She turns her head, following his gesture over her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed him before, but there is a man sitting in the corner booth alone, barely visible in the low light. He wears a dark suit with a white shirt underneath, the top two buttons undone, and his fingers rest lightly on a whiskey glass. His face is obscured, but she can just make out the halo of golden waves atop his head. 

Brienne lifts her glass toward him and inclines her head, watches him do the same. They both take a sip of their drinks and Brienne swallows, licks her lips, then turns back to the bar. She feels the man’s eyes on the exposed skin of her back, a chill of excitement running up her spine. Each sip of the smooth amber liquid melts her inhibitions away until she swings her legs back around and unfolds herself from the barstool.

Eyes around the room are upon her again, but she doesn’t give them a thought. She walks slowly toward the corner booth, the details of the man’s face becoming clearer with each step. It is not an exaggeration to say he is arrestingly beautiful – his jawline sharp, cheekbones high, lips full, eyes glittering in the light of the votive candle on the table. She resists the instinct to turn and run, to assume him sending her a drink was a mistake, and continues approaching until she stands directly in front of him.

His eyes rake over her body, lighting upon the bare skin of her legs, the nipples she can feel straining against the fabric of her dress, her collarbone, her long neck, before he raises his head to meet her eyes. She isn’t sure if the slight fuzziness in her head is from the alcohol or the intensity of his gaze.

“Thank you for the drink,” she says, surprised at how low and husky her voice comes out.

The man tips his head. “My pleasure. I appreciate a woman with good taste.” His voice is smooth and deep like the whiskey, and it warms her inside in the same way. 

She looks at him for a moment before her decision coalesces in her mind. 

“Would you like some company?”

The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Please.”

Brienne slides into the booth as gracefully as she can manage, the leather cool on her flushed skin, stopping when her leg brushes against his. They touch their glasses together and drink. She watches his throat as he swallows, watches him watch _her_ throat as she swallows, and hopes he can’t see her heart hammering in her chest.

“What brings you here?” he asks. Brienne is not usually one for small talk, but she is glad for the opportunity to calm her nerves. She traces a finger along the rim of her glass before looking up at him.

“An escape.” She knows it’s an enigmatic answer, but she wants to be mysterious tonight. “You?”

The man huffs a small laugh. “Business. It’s all very boring.” He leans closer to her and she can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, smell the spicy, earthy scent of his cologne. “You’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a while.” The rumble of his voice vibrates through her body and settles firmly between her thighs.

Brienne flushes and bites her lip. His eyes move immediately to her mouth. His glass is empty now; she tips hers back to drain the last of the whiskey and places it back on the table – the liquid courage is necessary for what she is about to ask him.

She leans toward him and speaks in a low voice. “Do you want to get out of here?” 

His lips part and he nods. “Yes. I do,” he says, more breath than words.

“Good.” She begins to slide out of the booth when he wraps his fingers around her wrist.

“Wait. Do I get to know your name?”

She smiles slyly. “My name doesn’t matter.”

He looks into her eyes and runs his fingertip over the slight indent on her ring finger. “Okay. We all have our secrets.”

The air between them crackles. His pupils are wide in the low light and she can see his pulse pounding under his skin, wonders what it will feel like under her tongue. He turns her hand over and draws his fingertips from the underside of her wrist up the soft skin of her forearm, smiling at the perceptible shiver that goes through her. “I suppose you don’t need to know my name either?”

“Maybe in the morning,” Brienne murmurs, taking his hand and pulling him out of the booth. Her heart flutters in her chest as she leads him out of the bar and toward the elevator. The sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor echoes through the nearly-empty lobby, most of the guests having retired to their rooms for sleep or other activities. 

Brienne steps onto the elevator and presses the button for her floor, wanting this modicum of control over her environment. She turns and looks at her companion – even in the harsh lighting of the elevator, he is offensively good-looking, and he’s also taller than she expected, though still a few inches shorter than her in her heels. 

The elevator door slides shut with a soft thump. Brienne leans back against the mirrored wall and says softly, "I don't normally do this."

He stalks over, eyes sharp, stopping in front of her just before his body presses against hers. His breath is hot against her jawline. “I don’t need to know what you normally do. All I need to know is what you want tonight.”

Brienne’s eyes flutter closed and her head falls back against the elevator wall, exposing her neck to him, an invitation. 

She feels the brush of lips feather-light against her skin, hands coming to rest on her hips. The hands tighten when her legs begin to sag from the open-mouthed kisses he trails along her neck, down to her collarbone. “Someone might come in,” she breathes, but doesn’t push him away. The thought of someone witnessing this man touching and kissing her like this makes her feel equally horrified and exhilarated.

“Let them see,” he says into her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and biting down gently. The yelp that emanates from her mouth might have embarrassed her if she didn’t feel him twitch and harden against her thigh at the sound.

Blessedly, the elevator goes straight to her floor and slides open to an empty hallway. He gives her neck one last nip before stepping back and taking her hand, pulling her out of the elevator. She takes careful steps down the hall, her legs shaky, her center throbbing with ache already.

Brienne stops in front of the door to her room and fumbles with her key card as he sucks on the sensitive flesh between neck and shoulder. His hands encircle her waist and pull her body taut against his, allowing her to feel his arousal. She is finally able to slide her key card into the lock and swings the door open. They are barely in the room before he has her back pressed against the cool wood of the door, his lips on hers, his tongue delving into her mouth.

He kisses her until she is breathless and shaking, until her hands move of their own accord to the waistband of his pants and untuck his shirt and begin working at the buttons. 

He puts his hand over hers to stall her movements. “Hold on.” He backs up a few steps, a finger pressing lightly on her chest to stop her from following. 

“Take off your dress. Leave the heels on.” 

She’s unaccustomed to following orders in any part of her life, and her first instinct is to push back, but being commanded in this way does something to her body she doesn’t quite expect or understand. She doesn’t need to, though – not tonight.

He stands in front of her, eyes hungry, devouring as he watches her lift the hem of her dress and pull it over her head. He rasps “ _fuck_ ” from deep in his chest when he discovers she is bare underneath, having seen no use for undergarments.

Brienne leans back against the door once more, pressing her palms flat against it, meeting his eyes though she has never felt so exposed. The cold smoothness of the door is a welcome contrast to her fevered skin. He peels his jacket off as he stalks toward her, his muscles straining against his white shirt. 

She expects him to kiss her again when he stops in front of her, but he kneels instead. Her head swims so intensely with anticipation she nearly falls over, and she has to push her hands harder into the door to steady herself.

“Your legs,” he says, running a palm from her ankle up to her thigh, “has anyone ever told you they’re _astounding_?”

“Not in so many words,” she says shakily, her eyes closed again. 

His hands continue to stroke up and down her legs, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. “I couldn’t take my eyes off them in the bar. I wondered what they’d look like over my shoulders. Wrapped around my waist.” She sways again, the blood rushing south from her head at his words.

He nudges her legs wider, places an indecent, open-mouthed kiss on her inner thigh, so close to where she needs him that she groans in frustration. 

He smiles against her thigh and looks up at her. “You need to tell me what you want, remember?”

“I want –” Brienne begins hesitantly, nearly slipping back into her everyday persona, before remembering that’s not her tonight. “I want you to put your mouth on me. I want you to make me come with your tongue.”

He exhales sharply and moves his head between her legs, his tongue darting out to tease along her seam, hands gripping her thighs and holding her still when her hips begin bucking toward his mouth.

Brienne makes a high-pitched sound she’s sure anyone who happens to be walking by will be able to hear, but she can’t bring herself to care when his tongue is on her cunt and flicking against her clit and now two fingers are inside her and she’s coming undone, one hand gripping his hair, the other slamming hard against the door. If anyone is walking by now, they’ll _definitely_ think something is amiss. 

She breathes heavily as he continues to lap at her through her orgasm, and he laughs when she tugs his head away from her. He sits back on his heels and looks up at her, his clean-shaven chin wet with her juices, black pools where his green eyes had once been. 

“Bed,” she commands, surprised at the strength of her voice when the rest of her body feels like jelly. "Now." 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, standing up and walking backward toward the bed, as if he’s loath to tear his eyes off her for even a second. His legs hit the bed and he sits, laying back when Brienne presses a hand to his chest firmly.

She climbs atop him, straddles him, naked except for her heels, and he’s fully clothed which will not do at all, so she begins working at the buttons of his white dress shirt. Her hands tremble as his chart a path from her thighs to her waist and around to her breasts. She is so wet she is practically dripping onto him and so needy that she thinks she could come again just from his fingers rolling and plucking her taut nipples.

She finally gets his shirt unbuttoned and slides it off him, taking in his well-muscled chest and stomach with its scattering of grayish hair. Her fingers move to his belt buckle and she can’t get it undone fast enough, his cock bulging and straining against the shiny, expensive-looking fabric of his pants.

Brienne slides off the bed and kneels between his legs, holding his gaze as she pulls his pants and boxers down, as she flicks her tongue out to lick the bead of moisture from the tip, as she takes the length of him into her mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, a guttural moan tearing from his lips, and Brienne makes a low sound of her own when his cock pulses and hardens further in her mouth.

“Wait,” he whimpers, tugging her head gently up. “I want to fuck you.”

She licks her lips and climbs back up onto the bed, following him as he scoots to the center. He's naked now, too, and his cock arches hard and red up toward his stomach.

"I thought I was supposed to tell you what I wanted?" She smirks down from where she's on her hands and knees above him. She doesn't know where this boldness, this ability to tease is coming from, but she likes it. "I want to fuck _you_."

"Yes. Please." He is nearly begging now, the urgency in his voice sending yet another jolt of heat through her body. 

She is slick and swollen and so ready that she sinks down onto his cock in one fluid motion. He is thick and hard and fills her up inside and when she moves her hips slightly, shockingly indecent noises fly out of her.

“ _Gods, you feel good_ ,” he rumbles from underneath her, his grip like steel on her hips.

Brienne moves slowly and subtly at first, enjoying both the feeling of him inside her and his face gazing up at her with a combination of lust and wonderment. But in no time at all, the familiar pressure begins building at the base of her spine. She finds a rhythm that makes sparks bloom behind her eyelids and obscenities burst from her mouth. Her fingers dig into the hard planes of his chest, her hips stutter until her release hits her like a tidal wave. She clenches and flutters around him and feels him thrust into her so hard that they both lift off the bed, and she thinks she might come again before her first orgasm is even over but then he cries out and his hips slow and his hands release their iron-clad grip. 

Brienne collapses on top of him, feeling his heart hammering and his breath expanding his chest underneath her. She shudders when he runs his hands lightly up and down her spine, an intimate touch that she knows she shouldn’t allow, but it feels too good to care. 

When her breath slows and he begins to soften inside her, she rolls off and lays on her back next to him, their arms barely touching. _I should make him leave_ , she thinks, but she looks over at him and he is staring at her with such intensity and promise that several more fantasies flare to life in her mind. She can’t let him go without making at least a few of them real.

***

Brienne wakes to bright sun streaming through the white hotel curtains, a warmth pressed against her back, and a hand resting possessively on her hip. She turns in his arms and nuzzles his neck with her nose, plants a gentle kiss on his lips. 

His eyes flutter open and meet hers.

"It’s morning,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. “Do I get to know your name now?"

She slaps his chest playfully. "You know my name."

Jaime laughs and buries his face into her neck. "Good morning, Mrs. Lannister."

Brienne runs her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "Good morning, Mr. Lannister. I missed you. When did you get in from Braavos yesterday?"

"Late afternoon. I walked around a bit and had dinner before heading to the bar. You should have seen how confused the registration guy was when I told him not to tell you I’d checked in.”

“What, you didn't just tell him we like to role-play as strangers to put a little spice in our marriage?”

“He was quite young. I didn't want to traumatize the poor lad.”

“You shaved,” she observes, running a finger along his jawline.

He nods. “Thought it might be a different feeling. Add to the excitement, you know.”

“It was different...but you should grow it out again.”

Jaime chuckles. “Yes, dear.”

Brienne wraps her arms tight around him and hums into his hair. “This was fun. I’m glad you suggested it.”

“It _was_ fun. We should do it more often.”

“Maybe somewhere a little less expensive next time? Speaking of, did you know how much that whiskey was when you bought me another one?”

“I _had_ to. Couldn’t let some other guy impress the magnificent, leggy blonde at the bar and swoop her out from underneath me.” 

Brienne chuckles and pulls him on top of her. “I never want to be underneath anyone else.”

Jaime leans in for a chaste kiss, but Brienne’s body still zings from last night, so she drags her tongue along his lips and wraps her legs around him, hears him moan and feels him harden against her. She rolls her hips and slides her hand down, strokes him harder and guides him inside her. He feels like _her_ Jaime again, familiar and known, but it's not disappointing. On the contrary, being able to call out his name as he moves deep inside her the way he knows she likes is even better than the excitement and novelty of someone new. They gasp “I love you” into each other’s ears, reaching their peaks together, every inch of their bodies in tune. 

After they’re able to move again, Jaime rolls off the bed and retrieves his suitcase from where he’d hidden it away in the closet, rifling around for a new t-shirt and pair of boxers. Brienne pouts her lips but soon joins him in getting dressed.

“Should we call the kids?” he asks as he pulls on a worn pair of jeans.

“Nah. I’m sure they’re having too much fun with my dad to want to talk to us. Checkout’s not until noon – what should we do with the rest of our morning?”

“What do you say we go have breakfast downstairs, and then maybe find a private alcove somewhere?” Jaime says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Oh, role play wasn’t enough? You want to add exhibitionism to the list too?”

Jaime gives her an incredulous look. “I saw what you were wearing last night. If anyone’s an exhibitionist, it’s you.”

“You love that dress,” she says with a light shove to his shoulder.

“I do. I believe I showed you how much I do.”

“You did. And I thoroughly appreciated it.” She grabs him by the shirt and kisses him quickly before reaching into the bedside drawer to retrieve her rings. She slides them back onto her finger and watches him do the same with his. All these years later, it still does something to her to see him wearing such an outward sign of their commitment.

After they’re dressed, they walk hand in hand to the elevator, sneaking kisses and touches when the doors slide shut. 

They are still holding on to each other when they walk past the registration desk, where the young man from yesterday is working again. Jaime goes out of his way to say good morning, and they laugh at the utterly confused stare he gives them.

After breakfast, much to Jaime’s disappointment, they are unable to find an alcove private enough for their needs, but Brienne makes it up to him with a blowjob in front of the open window in their room. 

As they’re packing up to check out, Brienne stops to really _look_ at Jaime. His five o’clock shadow is already starting to grow back, and there’s a small hole at the hem of his t-shirt - so different from the suave mystery man of the night before. And although it was exciting to play the bold, confident woman who would pick up a man in a hotel bar, Brienne likes the woman she is with Jaime, her husband, her love, even better.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to prompt "established couple role-play scenario" for the Smut Swap, but then I realized I wanted to write it. So I did.
> 
> Thank you x1,000 to winterstale24 for the beta!
> 
> I’m on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wildlingoftarth) (sporadically) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wildlingoftarth) (constantly)!


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